A Promise
by FactoryKat
Summary: Hawke receives that fateful letter from Skyhold and wrestles with what that means - leaving Anders behind. He decides something must be done first. Art by NikeMV - purchased commission


A letter arrived.

A letter - from Varric - had arrived. The carefully folded and sealed document felt heavy in Wyatt's hands, as though the parchment itself were coated in steel and weighed down by its contents. He hadn't even opened it, had not yet broken the wax seal to read the words but dreadful anticipation was lead in his gut.

Why?

"Love," His partner's voice called, soft and vaguely hoarse. "What's going on?" Anders called again as he emerged from their shared bedroom. The sight of him sans most clothing, rubbing the sleep from his half-lidded eyes with his blonde hair all in disarray was an unexpected delight. Wyatt's heart stirred with silent awe, and for a passing moment, he forgot about everything else except that.

He was lost in admiration for what felt like an eternity when Anders caught him staring, his tired face stuck somewhere between confusion and worry. The most subtle of darkness shadowed the soft skin under his eyes even after a full night's rest - at his own insistence. "What is it?" Still disoriented, he blinked away the haze and reached out with a hand wreathed in the faint blue halo of magic. "Are you alright, do you need healing?"

Hawke tossed the letter away to clasp both hands around his lover's and pressed each slender finger against his lips gingerly, one after another. "No, no I'm fine. A letter came. It's from Varric of all things." Said tender treatment persisted even as Anders' eyes slid closed and the glow of the fade receded.

"I must still be half-asleep but I swore you just said a letter from _Varric_ came. Tell me I misheard?" Just as Anders opened his eyes again, no less confused than he had been moments ago, Hawke cast a glance at the table where the letter still sat unopened.

"It's only a letter. He's probably just checking on us." Perhaps his fears were justified. It was the first message he had received in as many years, however. He couldn't imagine the occasion for Varric to start writing now and it was only natural for them to feel cautious regarding any sudden communication while they were still actively maintaining a low profile.

"And perhaps he's sent a warning that the templars are on their way and he only means to give us a head start."

Biting words fell from frowning lips as Anders' face settled on disgust. He had every reason to worry, they both did but it was a practice in patience to constantly remind him that the people they called friend would never turn them in like that. Wyatt knew that self-doubt and insecurity would always plague him. He knew that it would always be there like an uninvited guest in the recesses of his thoughts. Anders had explained as much to him just as many times over and he understood it wasn't something that would simply go away, only get easier to handle with time and with support.

_If I could someday permanently soothe all of those fears -_

"Varric would never turn his back on us, Anders. Not even on you. I'm sure it's nothing." Wyatt exhaled heavily but with a somber smile. "Come here," he beckoned, opening his arms to welcome the sleep-addled mage who accepted with some reticence.

"You're probably right," Anders mumbled, face buried in his shoulder as he wrapped his arms around the man's much leaner form. Gently he stroked the back of his lover's head, combing his fingers carefully through tangled blonde hair. "You always are…" Anders mused quietly as his breathing slowed and evened out, seemingly content to just be held all morning.

"Maybe not always, but I'll take the credit just the same." Hawke grinned to himself and kissed Anders' temple. He was feeling a little less wary about the letter, though uncertainty still lingered quietly in his mind. This was the first real letter he had received from anyone since leaving Kirkwall, which wasn't so unusual but it was the suddenness of it that he was calling into question.

"Alright, don't get a big head about it now. Just open the damned letter and let's see what ol' Varric has to say."

But Hawke wasn't listening as he nipped at the pale skin along Anders' neck and started traveling along his throat, from which muffled sounds of delight escaped. "Hawke," was the protest finally, after a full minute more of being inundated with affection. "Much as I am enjoying this, the anticipation is killing me. Open it, Love. Please."

Feigning disappointment, Wyatt pouted but acquiesced to the request without further protest. "Alright, but after that, you're coming back to bed with me." There was no point waiting in suspense all morning. He held Anders with one hand, who had already plucked the letter from the table and offered it up.

"As if I could say no to more of that."

The wax seal bearing the signet of House Tethras had brought fond memories and it was almost a shame to break it. Hawke snatched the letter, still grinning like a schoolboy at Anders as he slipped his finger under the folded flap and tore it open. His eyes darted over the page in a brief sweep, first gauging the length and overall tone. A few words jumped off the page as though they had been scrawled in a blazing fire, threatening to burn a hole right through the parchment.

Well, shit.

That was Varric's phrase of choice when presented with a new problem. Honestly, Hawke wasn't even sure what that problem was yet but the cursory glance over the letter set off all of his alarms. His heartbeat quickened as he drew in a careful breath before dedicating himself to reading through the letter thoroughly. The tight, precise scrawl his dwarven friend was known for practically rolled off the page as if Varric were here, speaking the words himself.

_[ Hero,_

_This isn't the first letter I wanted to send. Not after all that's happened. I hope you're sitting down for this one._

_I'm working with the Inquisition. Crazy right? It's a long story._

_Do you remember our trip to the Vimmark Mountains? You know, the one that had us trudging through deep roads again, with the prison where we killed that Corypheus guy?_

_Yeah well, turns out he's not as dead as we thought. _

_Apparently, the wardens are acting strangely too. Shit, Hawke. Everything's a mess. We could really use you. _

_And tell Blondie to stay put. He won't like it, but you and I both know it's better that he stays away. At least until all this shit is over with. I'll send the Rivaini around to check in on him while you're gone. Don't worry._

_I included a map to where we are. Trust me, you'll need it. I'll explain everything when you get here. It'll be good to see you. I just wish it was under better circumstances._

_Varric ]_

Stunned into silence, Wyatt pried himself away from Anders and as he dropped the letter, the pacing began.

Shit.

Shit shit shit.

He cursed under his breath with every step.

Anders picked up the discarded parchment and scanned the note. All color drained from his fair face when the moment of understanding hit. "You can't be serious," was the healer's only response while Hawke wore tracks into the cottage floor with his heavy steps back and forth. "Don't tell me you plan to go?"

Finally, Wyatt stopped and closed his fist frighteningly tight enough for his worn fingernails to dig into the soft flesh of his palm. "I have to. Corypheus wouldn't be awake if it hadn't been for me."

"If it hadn't been for us. You didn't go marching into that prison alone." Anders reminded him sternly, grabbing his other hand. "But it's not your problem anymore. Nor whatever is happening with the Wardens. Let them solve their own problems."

"But it wasn't your blood that broke the seals again. It wasn't your father that-" Wyatt clenched his teeth and chewed his tongue, throat tight as he swallowed the bitter words.

Anders' mouth formed a hard, disapproving line as Hawke pulled away. "You're right, it wasn't."

"If there is anything I can do to help, then it's my duty to see that I do, if only for Varric's sake." A champion's job was never over, it seemed. Even if he wasn't protecting Kirkwall from itself, even if he was walking into a disaster nearly blind, his friend had reached out for help. That was reason enough to go. The lead weight in the pit of his stomach still remained, now joined by the twist of anxiety. He knew what this meant.

He had to go. Alone.

Anders' voice cut through the tension pulling him back down to reality, anchoring him at that moment. "If you're determined to throw yourself into danger, to fix someone else's mess again, then I'm going with you."

Wyatt was more than sure he was a lifeline for Anders, without a shadow of a doubt, but there had been times when their roles were reversed. Even for all of his troubles and inner turmoil, Anders was a surprisingly good grounding force for him.

Which made it harder to put his foot down on this.

"No."

To see the resolve on his lover's face morph into a panicked alarm stabbed at his heart and his own hard frown softened into a gentler, but no less discouraging smile. "No, Anders. You can't. We both know that. Not after what happened last time. I would never put you in that situation again, you or Justice. You're safer here."

As Anders opened his mouth to protest, Wyatt stepped forward and cradled his cheek. "Don't. I'm not going to change my mind." He recognized the growing anger and frustration bubbling just beneath the surface, just as it was within himself. He had questions, so many questions and thoughts of what might have happened or what could happen raced through his mind. It took all he had to stem the flow of worry and focus on the here and now. On the man in front of him who looked apprehensive, whose hands shook in trepidation as he gathered them in his own.

Unprompted by anything except the fear and cold blue fury flickering behind amber eyes, Hawke crouched low in a kneel while still holding his lover's hand.

"Wyatt," Anders questioned, suspiciously. Whatever storm of emotions that were building in him had been immediately snuffed out like the flame from a candle. "What are you doing?"

Indeed, what _was_ he doing? This wasn't something that they had discussed, but it wasn't as if there had ever been a good time or place to do so. They were mages - apostates by the chantry's definition - and had a hand in the revolution. To even have as much as they did was something others merely dreamed of. By all rights, Wyatt knew he should be content with it all, but he could not fight the ever-growing desire for more each day - for the war to be over, for his family to be here alive and safe, freedom for Anders and for all other mages.

He slipped something from a finger on his right hand, something that glinted in the pale rays of sunlight streaming in through the far window. Wyatt brandished a ring - thin, silver and only slightly aged - his father's ring, commissioned by his mother as a match to her own when they were wed. "Just listen," he began quietly in the morning awe. "I'm going to make you the same promise my father made to my mother. The one he made when the wardens were threatening them." He paused, waiting for a reply, approval or any other sign beyond an open-mouthed stare.

"Are you - is this -?" Anders was flustered, stuttered into near-silence in as he wrestled with the possibility laid out before him.

"Anders, I promise I will come back. But you need to promise me that you will be here. That you'll wait for me."

His head shook slowly as if not fully committed to the action, still bewildered. "You can't - we can't-" His voice cracked as he fought back what appeared to be a smile born from mixed emotions.

"We _can_. And it's only a promise - for now. Or whatever you want it to be!"

Deafening silence filled every space in the room, drowning out everything but the sound of his own shallow breathing. The tension was a weight on his chest, preventing his lungs from expanding.

Say something. _Anything_.

"Maker's ass. Anders, _please_. I don't know what I would do if you said no-"

Tears. Shit. His honey eyes were glassy with welling tears and Wyatt watched Anders wipe them away with the back of his hand.

"Andraste's flaming sword! Yes yes - I promise - just stand up you ridiculous man!"

He was smiling. Thank the fucking Maker. Hawke exhaled as relief washed through him. He stood as demanded and threw his arms around Anders. In his exuberance, he pressed their lips together - roughly at first - tasting the other mage hungrily and committing the sensations to memory as if he might disappear. Fighting against baser urges, it was Hawke who pulled away to leave both of them panting and sucking in air as if learning how to breathe for the first time.

"I love you, Anders. I have loved you since I saw you and I will love you for the rest of this life and into the next. Remember that."

"I know," His voice dropped in volume growing almost distant. "I'm just still trying to wrap my head around it. Sorry."

"Don't be," Wyatt uttered in hushed tones as Anders leaned into him again and stared circumspectly at the ring he now held in between his thumb and forefinger. He turned the delicate trinket over in his hands a few times to inspect it from all angles. His face was alight with curiosity now.

"What are you looking for?" Hawke spoke up again as he wrapped both arms around Anders possessively and rested his chin on one shoulder. "It's not going to bite you if you put it on you know," he teased, pulling an undignified snort from his lover.

Anders gently broke the embrace so he could turn and face Hawke again with doubt in his eyes. "Are sure you want this? You still want me after everything, after my actions forced us to go on the run like we have, giving up your title and your home. Not to mention I highly doubt any chantry would be throwing themselves at the chance to marry two apostates-"

"Kirkwall was never home for me, Anders. You know that. If I have to remind you every day for the rest of our lives, then I will. And since when do you care what the chantry thinks? Never stopped you before. Or me for that matter!"

Finally, a sigh of resolution (or exasperation) came after a minute of pensive silence. "I truly do not know who is more stubborn between the two of us."

Wyatt had to contain his laughter, not wanting to drastically ruin the tenderness of the moment. There would be plenty of time for it later. "I'll leave tomorrow, at first light. I'll send word to Varric and let him know. Alright?" His answer came in the form of a simple, wordless nod. It was best to relish it while they could, for tomorrow would be the beginning of the end. It had to be. For not just everyone's sake, but their own.


End file.
